


An Unfortunate Tether

by paintmegold (rpslover)



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Blood and Sand, Spartacus: Vengeance, Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: F/M, Ilithyia lives, Retelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rpslover/pseuds/paintmegold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>~A/N~ I'M SO SORRY EVERYONE BUT THIS FIC HAS BEEN DISCONTINUED, I lost contact with my beta and my interest has been waning since the series ended. Again, I'm very sorry, but I didn't want to lead you all on any longer. ~</p><p>Ilithyia struggles with her constant thoughts of Spartacus; her nightmares are consumed by him. What will she do when captured and held with the rebel himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Golden Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my Beta: DanniMitchell85!

Golden skin shimmered as he shifted his body against hers; the weight of him and angle of his hips giving rise to her pleasure with each thrust. She could feel as his agitation grew, watched his muscles strain and his breathing quicken. She was no stranger to the signals of a man’s body and was not going to be denied the bounty for which she’d paid so steep a price. Spurring him on with her heels like a beast, she encouraged him to take all she freely offered.

His mind and actions returned to purpose and Ilithyia felt the edge closer. Stilling her body she held her breath, and right before mounting the peak she felt her pleasure slip from her grasp. She cried out in frustration. She had thought Crixus would be able to achieve greatness where her husband could not. Gaius could only see her there with his talented tongue. Never pounding her and ravaging her like she desired. She had dreamed of it and yet her body betrayed her; keeping the height of her pleasure just out of reach.

Prying her eyes open in search of an anchor, she searched for something to keep her from slipping. Her eyes found the ‘B’ branded on his inner forearm. The skin there was angry and rough. He was a gladiator, he’d earned the cursed thing with his ability to take a man’s life and cast it adrift of this world. He was a brother, and all those like him carried the mark. Her eyes sought a deeper meaning still; at the core of his mark he was a slave. 

She was being taken by a slave; a man who didn't have the worth to speak a word in her presence. A man, no a pet, a broken thing devoid of will and completely at hers. She felt her body reignite at the thought. Focusing her mind on the steady rhythm of his hips and the smell of his sweat, a spark of excitement ran the length of her spine. The firm press of him inside her, invading her body; her own pace turned frantic. He was on the edge himself; his control but a straining cord, her pleasure. He could not be finished without it. She let herself picture the invasion on different terms, her serving his needs and pleasuring his body with hers. 

She cried out then, as her body was assaulted by waves of sweet release. He groaned and stilled against her and she revealed in the feeling as his warmth spread within her, her body convulsing around his. 

She pried her body from his, stiff hips groaning and muscles aching with use. Rolling onto her side, she smiled beneath her mask. She could feel his eyes upon her, his hand swept the golden curls off her neck and his mouth seared a kiss onto her shoulder. She didn’t shy from his intimate touch, but she craved the breath of fresh air on her moist skin that she couldn't find in his hot embrace. 

When she didn’t respond to his touch, he set upon her like an unsatisfied mongrel. He was entering her again before her skin had a chance to cool, the pace made her head spin. Her thighs, sticky and wet with his seed wrapped around him yet again. She yearned for it, her thoughts strewn and messy she wanted nothing more than his touch. The air was thick and her throat clenched and she choked against his name. 

“Spartacus.”

Ilithyia sat up with a gasp. Her body was drenched with cold sweat. She’d been having the same horrible nightmare since her pregnancy had been confirmed by the medicus.

She had never seen Gaius happier than when he’d heard the news. It made her heart clench to know the horrid truth about the thing writhing and growing beneath her skin. She’d replayed the events of that night in her mind so many times. It was no longer the masks being ripped away, or the feel of his impossibly strong hands on her neck that tortured her thoughts and kept her awake at night. 

The enemy of more peaceful dreams, the incessant, and churning desire rooted deeply and hidden well as if a fire within the darkest places of her. The pleasure wrought upon her at the hands of Spartacus; whenever eyes closed she saw his golden skin and it turned hers shades of passionate red.

She scolded herself for the heinous thought and quickly removed herself from the bed. She called for a bath and resolved to put her thoughts to proper cause. Gaius had sent word he was bringing news from her father. News from the Senate.


	2. Paying Debt Owed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite her protests, Ilithyia and Gaius return to Capua where they witness a miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to my wonderful beta DanniMitchell85!

The carriage ride was as smooth as could be expected, and she’d not touched an ounce of food since her husband had condemned her to this trip. Her stomach, however, could not be settled. She felt Gaius’ eyes upon her and she attempted to compose herself. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the extent his punishment was affecting her. 

Her eyes drifted to her husband’s hand upon her knee, Gaius would never understand the depths of his cruelty in asking her to accompany him. He would never know that for her returning to Capua was as if returning to the fucking underworld. To set foot upon those dingy streets, walking amongst those who once chanted the name Spartacus and hailed him Champion. How did Gaius expect her to do it? The memories of dreaded heat during the drought when the smell of sweat was constant and every breath was as if swallowing dry sand. Capua was cursed, Ilithyia was being dragged back to the city’s arms and she wasn’t sure if she had the will to claw her way out a second time.

Death by his hands that night in the blood drenched villa may have proved easier. To count her corpse among those lost, mourned but no longer suffering this world. Ilithyia could remember every detail of Spartacus from that fateful night; could see his hands then, not delicately painted, gold but messy with dirt and a lust for Roman blood. She knew what those hands were capable of when set to purpose and she’d never been more afraid for her life. Swept up by a herd of nobles running for their lives she’d stumbled into the villa in a trance. The acrid smell of blood overwhelmed her and brought memories of Licinia. It wasn’t until reminded by Lucretia of her husband’s men that she returned to her senses. Lucretia and Licinia were the reason she was trapped in Capua, the reason she wasn’t in Rome with her husband and instead playing errand girl for the wife of a Lanista. She’d had the soldiers bar the door and trap all of her problems inside. With the deed done and soldiers by her side she had been startled with how much fear she still carried. So she ran, not back to her father’s villa in Capua, but all the way back to Rome. 

Safely tucked away in Rome she’d been able to identify why. She did not believe the door, nor the distance, would hold back any measure of Spartacus’ rage. The way he’d flown toward her, as if on wings of death. There was intent in his eyes so fierce it threatened to shake the foundations of the empire. Hatred surged around him so forcefully the air itself appeared to ripple like heat over burning coals.

Time had done little to ease her nerves in face of those memories.

It was a worse fate, hers, to return now with the knowledge she may yet see him again. She was not sure in what state she would find herself when it came time to watch them nail the father of her unborn child to a cross. To have him stare at her with those hate filled eyes, green eyes that would one day stare into her own and call her mother.

She had tried every gift she was in possession of to convince Gaius to let her stay behind. She’d tried to comfort him and herself, whispering to him that all who knew of the deed speak no more. Her mind set to one deed and his to another but the words rang true in both regards.  
Yet, Gaius was heavy as a stone and would not be moved. 

Ilithyia realised her eyes were still resting upon the hands of her husband. They were smaller than Spartacus’ hands. Impotent things lacking the strength and power to see her satisfied; they had failed to illicit any pleasure since the night she’d lain with the Bringer of Rain. A thought that struck shame through her but did not quell the flame of desire she still harbored for his touch. She turned her body away from Gaius and closed her eyes, trying again in vain to settle her stomach. 

~*~ 

Ilithyia hadn’t had a moment to stop and gather her thoughts since Gaius informed her they would be making the former house of Batiatus their temporary home. She’d surveyed almost every inch and was losing hope. The walls, the furniture, every piece of sculpture and every carefully laid stone was awash in blood, in every corner lived an impossible tangle of memories. 

Stopping to catch her breath, she felt her anger rise to meet her ever mounting uncertainty. She snapped orders to the slaves closest and wished for a moment outside the scrutiny of position and title, to be truly alone for just a handful of seconds. This was her nightmare; living inside of a cursed house in a forsaken city. No longer could she awake to comforting surroundings; her soft bed, the smell of fresh blooming flowers in the garden below her balcony and the soothing sound of water flowing through the fountains. She looked around the small room she’d stopped in.There was too much blood, once bright red but dulled with time, they would never be rid of the stains. 

The mask was discarded on a small seat across from where she stood. Her breath disappeared as her hands fled to guard her stomach. Trembling, she moved closer and closer until she could reach out and touch the ornate golden mask. Such a small but heinous thing, she thought again of the night she’d first seen it. Of the blood she’d spilled across these same marble floors. It was the second time today she’d thought of the act. Her hands covered in blood, matted with hair, her cheeks still warm with embarrassed tears. The crack of Licinia’s skull as it gave way to the hard tile had reverberated through her. The golden mask she’d carried was thrown from sight and blood sprayed the floor as her head met the ground again and again. Licinia’s shrill laugh forever silenced. 

The thought of conceiving a child should warm the heart of any mother, but not for her. Grief and remorse clouded the memory for she had baptized the conception of her child in blood and hatred. 

A quiet noise brought her away from her morbid thoughts. She turned toward the sound, and the scream that came forth from her lips summoned every soldier in the villa. Ilithyia had seen a ghost.


	3. Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilithyia is confronted by her worst nightmare after returning to Capua. Spartacus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my Beta: DanniMitchell85!

Ilithyia couldn’t help but sigh as her worn and exhausted body eased into the bath. Steam snaked up from the water’s surface, coiling around her and drawing hypnotizing patterns in the air. She massaged her stomach. The trip from Rome had been difficult, both physically and mentally for her and her child. Gaius had seen to a brutal pace and cared not for comforting luxuries, his only thought toward the capture and execution of Spartacus. Ilithyia quickly put the worrisome thought aside and focused instead of the feel of warm water caressing her sore muscles.  
  
She prayed to the gods that this bath would bring her some much needed relaxation; even trapped in this place with demons from a former life, but she could not put thoughts of their earlier reception so easily from her mind. Lucretia’s miraculous appearance was an unwelcome one.  
  
Lucretia was like pus leaking from an infected wound. She was a bad omen; Ilithyia could feel it creep along inside her veins, a poisonous knowledge her husband and Marcus would not heed. Nothing good could come of Lucretia’s continued existence and Ilithyia knew from experience that the older woman was not to be trusted.  
  
What would come of them while she waited for Gaius to open his eyes to this threat? She knew time would bring to light Lucretia’s real worth to the people of Capua. For that time though she could not wait. She would make sure her absence from Rome would not be long. She sank further below the water and began to imagine a multifaceted game of strategy. Her favorite kind.  
  
~*~  
  
“He comes, he comes, he comes.”  
  
Ilithyia sent a curse to the heavens. The market was scorching hot and the mad woman beside her was wavering and muttering. She was to see Lucretia’s reception by the people go as smoothly as possible but Lucretia’s questionable hold on sanity made it a daunting task. Lucretia’s grasp tightened on Ilithyia’s wrist as her warning began to take root in thought. The fear in Lucretia’s voice brought flashes of Spartacus. The Champion of Capua, the Bringer of Rain. The ‘he’ she spoke of could be only one man.  
  
“Still yourself!” she commanded Lucretia but it was meant for both their benefit. For Spartacus to show here would be a fool’s errand, certain death. However, her husband’s speech did nothing to calm her thoughts. Nor did his pledge, that Spartacus’ end is near, bring anything but a wave of conflicting emotions. She watched them drag in the broken girl and Gaius parade back and forth in front of her. Stomach churning she covered her mouth with her hand to hide her distaste for the event. When the time came she took her place behind Gaius in the procession.  
  
Waving and shaking hands, he was acting as if the laurels of victory were already upon him. Her vision swam before her suddenly, blurring the street and people into one colorful mass. Dazed for a moment by what she believed she’d seen, she turned around confused. She spun again and grabbed Lucretia’s arm for anchor. The woman’s eyes were sharp and focused and led her own to the man himself. Spartacus. There was a moment of paralysis, the people of Capua not yet alerted to the man concealed among them.  
  
Spartacus broke free from the crowd in an instant. Charging at her, no past her. His sword flew overhead and she screamed; stumbling into the arms of a nearby guard. Spartacus brought sword down behind her, his target Gaius. His anger toward her only surpassed by her husband.  
Her eyes remained transfixed to him, so many times she’d imagined him since she’d seen him last and now he was paramount. The men pulled her back and she strained not to lose sight of him.  
  
The market erupted into a panic as Spartacus’ sword clashed with Gaius’. People scrambled to escape the battle as guards stumbled over them in confusion. The only person moving with purpose was Spartacus.  
  
Realization dawned on her, she should have known. These events were easily predicted; he couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t stand by while the man who kidnapped his wife strung up a helpless woman in his name. The woman a wife to the man, best friend to Spartacus, which Ilithyia herself had seen to the afterlife. Her husband had destroyed the girl and the sacrifice had summoned the slayer of The Shadow of Death. Summoned him here to strike them down for what they’d all done.  
  
Her husband squared off against the former gladiator. She couldn’t take her eyes off of them. Spartacus’ was light in his movement and heavy in his blows. He was swift and strong and an equal match for twenty men. It had been so different watching him from the balcony of the ludus and from her seat at the arena. He had been just a gladiator then, a slave. Even being the Champion his will was not his own. She’d hated him then for what his life represented. Her husband’s embarrassment and a compromise to their continued rise. She’d wished him dead a thousand times when he’d been down and the odds seemed ever out of his favor. Each time she’d seen him somehow summon the strength to ward off death and carry himself blindly forward to victory. The same strength she felt stir within her. Fighting in front of her now was no longer Batiatus’ broken slave clinging to pathetic life. Spartacus was transformed into Death himself.  
  
Her eyes jerked closed as she took a breath to fill her oxygen deprived lungs. She choked on the dust being kicked into the air. When her eyes opened again there were more rebels and the girl Aurelia was being taken away.  Her husband now stood safely behind Marcus and an ever increasing number of guards. He’d been bested by Spartacus, she could clearly see the red blood flowing down his arm.  
  
She felt the astonishing strength of Spartacus, he was even more powerful now. A free man, guided by his own will. The difference between that and someone enslaved was apparent. He escaped far too easily from her husband’s men, his own incompetence mirrored in them for everyone to see. The scatter and confusion in the air was thick and heavy. The former slaves had all escaped with their lives, as well as the girl Gaius had meant to use to entreat the people of his clear and absolute control. Instead he cowered away from death behind Marcus and his men angered by his own failure once again.  
  
Spartacus was a free man. One she had brought herself to hate on behalf of her husband and one she believed she could love, under vastly different circumstances, on behalf of her child.


	4. Bringing Down the House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The decisions of Ilithyia and Spartacus have far reaching consequences. For those closest to them and the Republic.

The sound of sword moving through flesh was sickeningly satisfying. There was less resistance than slicing through fruit. Silence fell over the room for a moment and Ilithyia loved it. She could feel their eyes on her, an adoring audience to watch her rise. The little girl competing with her for Varinius affections was easily diminished. The party she was throwing, in honor of his games, served a dual purpose. Spartacus hadn't left her thoughts since the fight in the market and Gaius had been cold. He paid her no mind, ignoring her in every way, claiming busy thoughts. Yet, he still wouldn't allow her to return to Rome. She knew if she could rid herself of thoughts of Spartacus and position herself next to Varinius, with her father’s blessing, her and her child would be on their way to Rome at the close of the games. 

Ilithyia’s dreams of Spartacus had increased in frequency since the incident in the market. She couldn’t close her eyes without seeing him, or look around without colliding with his memory. Ilithyia saw him in the ludus training, sweat clinging to his skin and flying off in arcs as his sword crashed loudly against shield. She saw him in the arena fighting, sandals soaked in blood, skin and hair matted with sand. She saw him standing in front of her while she took a knife to his chest, dragging the sharp metal against his skin. Ilithyia had been so pleased to see the bright red line appear in its wake. She wanted to fault him, show he was not immortal and he bled like every slave. 

As she’d driven the sword through the belly of that Gaul she imagined it was Spartacus. She imagined killing him; the man that ruined her, the man who wouldn't stay a second from her thoughts, the man who gave life to the child that was growing inside of her. Ilithyia imagined that it was Spartacus’ body that had been dragged away as her guests cheered.

Killing that slave had presented no problem and the thought of leaving her husband did nothing to affect her demeanor. He’d been rough and cross with her since he’d found out about Licinia. Even his happiness about the child was tempered by her stained hands. Ilithyia wasn't the girl who so long ago had loved him deeply. He did not know it yet, but she wished for nothing more than freedom from his dominion. Ilithyia had steeled herself against overly sentimental thoughts and she would not be swayed from this path.

Grin upon face, Ilithyia kept her eyes on all in attendance. She’d devised a plan to get back to Rome that didn't involve Gaius defeating Spartacus. A feat that was proving more difficult than anyone had imagined. Spartacus had been underestimated by Gaius on too many occasions and now he underestimated her. Grave mistakes she would see him pay dearly for. Ilithyia planned on showing Gaius exactly how the game was supposed to be played. She grabbed a drink from a nearby table and let her eyes linger around the room. The party was a smashing success, the capture of the prisoners had everyone in light spirits even if Spartacus wasn't among them. Ilithyia knew she just had to wait for the right moment to get Varinius alone and she would be able to sway him to her cause.. 

~*~

Lucretia parting her legs and bedding her father had not been a part of the plan but she couldn't argue with the results. Varinius had been swayed by simple access to Ilithyia’s body and her father by access to Lucretia’s. She was to be married to Varinius and all ties to her husband dissolved. Ties including the life of her child. 

Through some means Gaius had found out about her plan to terminate her pregnancy. Instinctively, she’d been scared to find him with the vile but she knew she couldn't turn back. The life of her child, bastard of Spartacus, was a sacrifice she was willing to make. She’d felt immediately liberated and empowered when she revealed her true intentions to dissolve their marriage. Even more so knowing that she already had her father and Varinius’ support. The vile Gaius shattered would be easily replaced and disposal of the child would follow.

When they arrived at the arena later that day she was in high spirits. This charade would be concluded at the end of the games and she’d be returning to Rome. She took her seat and surveyed the boisterous crowd. So many people packed into such a small space gave the illusion or one writhing mass. As Varinius announced the first match she had to admit to herself, even now after all she’d been through, the games still sent shivers of excitement through her. 

Screaming, blood soaking the sand, unlikely winners and crushing defeats; the best drama always took place in the arena. Games of blood for sport were always the most entertaining and the highlight would be the executions at games’ end. Bit by bit Spartacus was being cleansed from her life. The Gauls would die, no one would shed a tear for the former champion Crixus as his name was expunged from history. The old traitorous Doctore, the only survivor of Theocles until Spartacus and Crixus, would also fall to the sword this day. Soon enough Spartacus and all that knew him would be wiped from the face of the Earth and she told herself that it felt a great relief. 

Yet, it gave her pause how easily Lucretia had talked her out of doing her part to get back to Rome; leaving no further trace of the rebel slave Spartacus within her. Was she being sentimental or was it the physical reasoning behind Lucretia’s argument? She kept telling herself that she was happy it would all be over soon. Telling herself that the nausea she was feeling as the games came to a close wasn't sentimentality. It was just nerves caused by Gaius and Varinius’ taunting one another. She wanted the slaves dead, wanted Spartacus dead, she wanted her life back. 

The crowd surged as Gannicus’ was presented, they erupted into total chaos as he took the sand. Lucretia was on the edge of her seat for Crixus’ last stand and seeing her tense had a soothing effect on Ilithyia. Oenomaus lunged for Gannicus before Varinius finished his introduction and the battle began. 

They both pressed hard against each other, neither wavering, delivering blow after blow. Crixus and the other Gaul split the remaining gladiators. It was an epic battle ensuring Varinius’ games a success. The Gaul whose name she couldn't remember was the first to fall and both Crixus and Oenomaus were losing ground. Things were going well and yet she felt a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. 

Screams filled the air suddenly followed by thunderous creaking and crashing. The screams were not those of avid spectator but of horrified citizen. They panicked like herd animals; running over top of each other, smashing and crashing their way through the thick crowd. An entire segment of the arena collapsed. Women and men sank below a sea of smoke and licking flames. Stones fell to the arena floor where the gladiators still fought. Ilithyia looked to Gaius and her father, but they made no move. Like statues, their eyes were transfixed on the horrors surrounding them. 

The arena was coming down. Stones crumbled and shifted beneath their feet. Her vision went dark as the awning, meant to protect them from the heat, crashed down upon them. Without her vision the screams rang louder in her ears. All she could hear were the sounds of people dying, burning. The smoke had risen to their stand and she began to choke on the foul, thick cloud. Her lungs were on fire and the taste of charred meat coated her mouth. Panic coursed through her, she felt around frantically trying to find a way out. 

Ilithyia felt hands at her throat, squeezing tighter and tighter until she had no air left. She clawed at the hands but there were none there but her own. Somehow Spartacus was behind this, it was as if she could feel his presence. He’d come to claim her life. 

As Seppius and his men got them out from under the thick cloth Ilithyia looked back to find Gaius. 

A spear flew by his left cheek. Spartacus had thrown the spear. She knew without seeing him, it could only be him. Just as she’d known in the market. She hadn't seen him, hadn't set her eyes upon him or his men and still she knew he was to blame. Spartacus had brought the arena to its knees a final time. Given the crowd what they’d always asked of him, blood. Their ‘champion’ had done this, he’d burned his name into history.

Seppius’ had cleared a path and as she stumbled her way through the rubble and debris a wave of nausea came over her. What if the spear, as sharp as his vengeance, was meant for her? What if he’d known of the child and her plan to see it’s spark extinguished? What if he’d meant to take her life and free the child from her grasp? 

Ilithyia didn't stop running until one of Seppius’ men caught her arm. They were clear of the collapsing building and she scanned the crowd for her father. She’d believed him right behind her and now he was nowhere to be seen. Her stomach clenched and a terrible chill ran through her. Ilithyia feared for her future.


	5. The Stench of Mourning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilithyia's father, fallen in arena, can do nothing to protect her from her husband's wrath. Lucretia devises a plan to see them both to Rome. Asher and Gannicus both move to see this from happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to my wonderful Beta dannimitchell85 who puts up with all my pestering and insecurity!

Ilithyia had over reached and she’d fallen far and fast as a result. All her plans failed, the child inside her the only thing keeping her life from being forfeit. Unmistakable irony considering that Ilithyia had planned to kill her own child. To douse a growing flame before it could consume her in a wild fire. The child clung resiliently to life, a trait she knew belonging to it’s father. Her cheeks burned with shame and embarrassment crippled her will.

Now her father was gone. The arena a tomb he shared with thousands of Capua’s citizens. The Gods had taken him from her as penance. Ilithyia had the blood of countless, faceless individuals on her hands and yet the Gods were offended by her intentions toward this one small life? Would it have brought too high the sum of souls she’d sent from this world? Were the Gods cruel or perhaps just? 

Whatever they were she knew they were punishing her. Taking her father and stoking the flames of hatred that burned within her husband’s heart. Gaius could barely look at her, when he did it was with putrid disgust. He turned from her gentlest touch and every sound from her lips strained his demeanor.

Sleep had been an impossible feat since the arena. Phantom hands curled around her throat as soon as she closed her eyes; eyes that burned with exhaustion and unwept tears. Ilithyia could still taste the smoke and feel the ash falling against her skin. She’d waited for her father to appear behind Varinius and Gaius, the arena seemed to burn indefinitely. He never showed and when Varinius ran leaving her with Gaius she knew her life was over. 

Gaius had told her to bathe, against practice or mourning, to punish her. Lucretia had been far from her mind but as Ilithyia entered the bathing room she appeared divine. An old friend was the balm her soul demanded. . 

Ilithyia knew herself venerable yet she craved comfort and the support she couldn't find within her husband’s arms. She knew better than to trust Lucretia, to keep her at a distance, but as they talked and shared warm embrace her heart began to fill with hope. Perhaps all was not lost. Could persistence win her husband’s affection and what price would he see her pay?

~*~

Gaius cold, blue eyes cut through her. This was a test. Ilithyia wanted to hide her eyes, shield them from his piercing gaze. She didn't want to watch another execution but he was waiting for her to condemn this woman to such. One word from her, telling the people his lie was truth and an innocent woman who had done nothing but care for Ilithyia would be put to death. Her slave yes, but a woman she had known, not something to be thrown away on a whim. Her jaw set. This was a test. 

Ilithyia stepped forward and told the people of Gaius’ truth. She told them that Spartacus had been uttered under breath by her slave and thoughts of rebellion secreted away. Her shoulders ached and chest grew tighter. Pressure built around her throat as she closed her eyes.   
It was as if Spartacus’ hands were strangling her. Ilithyia pried her eyes open again knowing Gaius meant for her to watch this horror. The only solace to be found was the steady hand of protection she laid upon her stomach.

Seppia was there. Ilithyia was aware of her on the edge of her consciousness. The young girl was blood thirsty, her passions inflamed by the death of her dear brother. Ilithyia remembered that feeling, to feel anything but crippling sadness would be a breath of fresh air. Gaius surprised her with his cruelty but she knew her own treatment of him was being reflected now. 

She heard hammer fall to nail and a piercing scream fill the market. She hated this place, these people. Roman or slave, her husband and Lucretia, she hated them all equally. The way Lucretia looked at her, the way Gaius had taken to looking at Seppia both equally made her skin crawl. She couldn't seem to wipe the look of perpetual disgust off her face as they traveled back to the villa. 

~*~

Ilithyia felt the warm liquid fall hot on cold skin. Lucretia had lost her mind, or perhaps never recovered it. But Ilithyia wasn't sure if Lucretia could be right about this. Would the spray of blood and a bad omen bring Gaius to their side, to send her back to Rome? He had begun to favor young Seppia, since the market he had even invited her to live under their roof and now gifted her with lingering glance. Ilithyia knew it was best to depart before such venom reached fragile heart. She was in a haze, she barely felt Lucretia take her hands and force them to bloody mess between thighs. Would all her schemes and plans unravel for this simple solution to grace thought? 

Ilithyia watched as Lucretia removed all stains of evidence from herself. She followed Lucretia blindly through the villa, yet she knew what needed to be done. This last part was up to her and Lucretia could not help. She stumbled out and clutched her stomach. 

“Gaius!”

He was at her side in an instant. Ilithyia just stared at him, feigning shock. She looked down at the blood on her hands as Lucretia rushed to her side. Lucretia warned Gaius of false omen and Ilithyia really allowed herself to see all the bright crimson staining her body and clothes. 

It was a dramatic sight and had the effect on Gaius that Lucretia had foretold. 

However, Asher remained to foil Lucretia’s plan. He wouldn't see her join Ilithyia in Rome. Ilithyia felt a small amount of shame for how relieved she was to be rid of the older woman. Even though she’d helped Ilithyia, Lucretia was a dangerous woman. Now Ilithyia knew when she left this place she’d truly be leaving all unnecessary weight behind her.

The following night saw Ilithyia again to the company of Lucretia and her husband. Her carriage awaited her as she moved to say her farewells. As Lucretia embraced her, telling her that they would be together again shortly, Ilithyia worried as schemes had proven a distrustful ally. Lucretia swayed Gannicus to kill Gaius. The news left her with an unwanted surge of regret. She glanced over at her husband, waiting to send her off, and as she left Lucretia’s embrace and moved toward his she thought of her loved ones lost to plotting. 

Ilithyia regarded Gaius silently for a second; truth almost spilling past weak, loving lips. She leaned forward and pressed said lips to his, perhaps for the last time. 

To kiss his lips and feel nothing was a cold reassurance. Gaius had no love left for her. Were it not for the child she carried he would just as soon dump her like trash in the market as send her back to Rome. As she stepped into the carriage her thoughts drifted to the other man in her life. The man who held rightful claim to her heir. Ilithyia knew that Spartacus would never set foot in Rome. She would finally be safe; free from his sword, spear, grasp and heel. She would be able to forever put him from her mind. 

The carriage jarred occasionally but also rocked soothingly. Ilithyia found her eyes closing and as they left Capua the phantom hand at her throat seemed to loosen its grasp. Dreams of Rome were soon upon her. 

Ilithyia awoke suddenly to the familiar sound of steel. The phantom hand at her throat gripped tightly, her own fingers traveled to her neck and a panic settled over her. She knew not how far they had traveled, yet she knew that it was him. Spartacus had come to claim her life, as the curtain was drawn she readied herself for death. 

What greeted her was not the hand of death she was expecting, but Gannicus. The man set on path of her husband's demise or so she had been led to believe.


	6. Fight or Flight?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilithyia was not going to sit there meekly and surrender her life. She knew it was a wicked thing to say and yet it was the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you my wonderful beta dannimitchell85!

Light and shadow danced in front of her, the rope was tight and rough around her wrists. Her captor, Gannicus, hadn't spoken. He’d been leading her for what felt like an eternity, she hadn't heard anything but the sound of snapping twigs and her own breath loud in her ears. 

All her pleas fell on deaf ears and her foolish attempts at escape had already seen three men to the afterlife. Gannicus tossed her to the ground carelessly. Ilithyia knew they had arrived, she could feel his presence. It weighed heavily upon her, as if Gannicus had led her to certain death.

“Take the life of Glabber’s woman, as he took the life of yours. See end to vengeance and with it the suffering of all caught between you and such desires.” 

Ilithyia understood his intent now. Gannicus offered her as sacrifice to Spartacus, to spill her blood and satisfy his hunger, to end the uprising. Ilithyia could hear the soft sound of Spartacus’ sandals as he advanced on her across the forest floor. His hands were like iron as he pulled her from the ground. Neither man spoke as she was again dragged through unknown forest. The fact that her life was still her own came as a surprise; why he had not jumped on her as rabid dog on fresh meat she couldn't fathom. 

The sound of shouting was the first noise in what seemed a lifetime. It wasn't angry shouting, they seemed the noises of training. Ilithyia remembered them well from her time as a guest in the House of Batiatus. 

A stillness settled as their pace slowed. Ilithyia knew she was being watched. She couldn't guess at their numbers, but as Spartacus pulled her through the crowd noise began to build. 

“We’re taking Glabber's wife now?!” The voice was gruff, disbelieving and very familiar.

“She’s been delivered into my hands and they will see her to proper end.”

Spartacus’ slaves clamored around her and spit hate filled slurs. Ilithyia could smell them as they pressed closer and closer. Fear mounted within her, she lost her footing and fell up hard stone steps. Every aching muscle protested as Spartacus rested her from the ground and yanked her forward. Only to be stopped by another gruff voice; the voice sounded to her as if an old man.

“Is this our cause? Falling upon a helpless woman, heavy with child.” Ilithyia wanted to weep, someone spoke out for her cause.

“Glabber had no pity toward my wife. A woman far more deserving than the thing that stands before you.” 

Spartacus thought her a thing. He kept dragging her forward, only roughly helping her down a steep flight of stairs. Ilithyia hadn't killed Spartacus’ wife, but she knew that she would pay the balance of that debt. He hadn't taken her life in the forest because he meant her to be paraded in front of his rebels. Her death would not only help his peace of mind but also serve to bolster his cause. 

“Please do not do this!” Ilithyia pleaded, she knew her life was forfeit but she hoped she could stay his hand for their child. His child, her blood turned to ice at the thought of revealing such a sinful secret. 

He shoved her down against a cold stone wall. 

“Were those same words pleaded by my wife, before Roman blade ripped her forever from my arms?” Spartacus was still, she could hear nothing but his angry breath. 

“I did not know of her! My hands were unstained by the deed.” 

As he ripped the blindfold from her eyes she was blinded by the sight of him. She’d seen flashes of him in the market but to feel his gaze upon her alone was another thing entirely. Spartacus’ eyes were searing through her, blazing like the sun.

“Your husband cannot claim such. He is the one who condemned her to slavery. She is gone from this world because of it and I will have equal vengeance.” Ilithyia could hear the plea in his voice, it left her unbalanced. She was unsure who he was trying to convince. His eyes contained fury, yes, but also a softness that hadn't lived there before. 

“You cannot do this! My child.”

Spartacus gripped her face, silencing her plea. His hand was as hard as the stone he pressed her against. 

“Sura and I often spoke of children. For the family we would have, forever denied me. As I now deny Glabber of his.” Such pain filled his eyes that she believed them mirrors of her own. 

The sound of blade being pulled rang out in the small room. Ilithyia had known she would die by his hands since that night the slaves overtook the ludus. She’d thought then that she’d escaped fate, but the truth seemed it was only delayed. Her blood had been promised to his sword that night and now he was to take it. But it wasn't just her blood, it was their child's.

“The child is yours!” It was a horrible confession and one she wasn't sure could spare her life or sway his wrath. She’d proven a horrible mother. What would she be if she didn't try with every ounce of her being to save this child now from it’s own father? 

The look Spartacus returned was calculating, the corners of his mouth twitched up in a smirk. Ilithyia knew he wouldn't easily believe her but did he not remember? He quickly accused her of falsehood but his eyes betrayed him. They were taken by the memory of that night, as hers often were, of that haunting reality. 

“Would that my tongue made false noise, yet it sounds bitter truth. Monthly blood did cease after you came to me in Batiatus’ villa. Lucretia had promised Crixus, a cruel jest.” Truth spilled from her lips and her stomach turned. His sword wavered as a time long passed took firm hold of him. Ilithyia could feel the golden memories reflected in his eyes. 

“Tis a memory that lingers, is it not?” Ilithyia raised her hand to his, turned her fingers over against his own. “Of that night, you inside me.” She’d always wondered if he thought of her as she often did of him. Was she a constant nagging distraction in his mind, poisoning it like he had hers. 

His hand felt rough against her fingertips as he withdrew from her touch .

“As does memory of my hands upon your throat.”

For the first time in a long while Ilithyia felt more than hopelessness, she felt the comforting spark of anger. Ilithyia was no woman that a man could affect her so. She’d face death a thousand times over before she submitted herself to another man’s tyranny. If he was going to threaten her with death, knowing the child was his, then perhaps he wasn't the man she thought him.

“Then see to completion what they began.” Ilithyia looked him in the eye as he wrapped his hand firmly around her throat. She hadn't expected his thumb rubbing at the soft skin above her collarbone, the small tender touch. Had he touched his wife with such tender intent? Sura was a lucky woman she would shortly see. Is this the man that woman once loved? Ilithyia felt wicked just thinking her name but she knew that this thing in front of her could not be that man.

“Take my life and that of your child. And may your wife turn from you for what you have done when she greets you in the afterlife.” 

Spartacus stopped and then backed away from her with no small amount of fear in his eyes. Ilithyia challenged him, she was not going to sit there meekly and surrender her life. She knew it was a wicked thing to say and yet it was the truth. 

He re-tied her ropes, blinded her eyes, and fled her presence.


	7. The Turning Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my wonderful beta DanniMitchell85! She's been having it rough lately and still makes time for me!

To live in want and fear. Ilithyia was no stranger to what Mira described before making attempt on her life. Ilithyia hadn't grown up a slave in the same sense as the woman before her but she had been a pawn of Rome, of her father, and then of her husband. 

The hands at her throat were as iron and steel in their purpose. The edges of her vision began to blur and become night. 

“Have you lost mind!” The surge and strength of Spartacus’ voice breathed life back into her. 

As quickly as Mira had fallen upon her, she was gone. Spartacus was there, pulling her free of Mira’s grasp, and in an instant he was filling that space in front of her. Air filled her lungs, while broad shoulders filled her vision. Capable hands helped her to lean against the wall for support. The way Spartacus discarded Mira behind him and the look in his eyes gave Ilithyia small hope. She had had honestly believed her life forfeit, how many times could she stay his wrath?

The way Spartacus looked at her now, with a tenderness absent from any gaze upon her in what seemed a lifetime. It gave her a dangerous hope, would she yet live to see his forgiveness? Would her child know the warmth of his father’s embrace? Ilithyia’s mind was still in a dizzy haze, happy thoughts floated to the top and she didn't have the strength to put them away. 

Mira was pleading with him. Ilithyia could hear her voice but the words were lost. An attempt to explain herself, to justify Ilithyia’s murder and that of Spartacus’ child no doubt.

“You do not know my heart.” Spartacus’ word were clipped and almost snarled.

Mira recoiled from those harsh words, gathering herself quickly and fleeing the cell. Ilithyia knew what Spartacus said was the truth. She was certain that Spartacus could never hold another woman to heart after the death of his wife. It was the defining moment of who he had become. Yet, he spared her life now and she did not know why. 

Spartacus didn't speak, he didn't explain, he just gave her some water and watched her quietly. 

She felt the child move within her and tears filled her eyes. Ilithyia had feared for the fragile life in the attempt made on hers. Perhaps the child was as strong as it’s father. 

She wiped her face and looked up. Spartacus’ eyes were filled with concern at the shedding of her tears.

“It is just the child, it moves with the strength of it’s father.” Ilithyia whispered, her voice hoarse and raw.

Spartacus tensed. He quickly moved the water pale to her side and left her alone.

~*~

Ilithyia tried to calm herself with slow breaths. She was blindfolded and stumbling through the forest again. She was scared, but not for her life. If Spartacus had wanted her dead, he would have let Mira kill her. Ilithyia was scared because he had taken her far from prying eyes and boisterous cries for her head. 

Spartacus meant to release her.

A thing she would never have thought would come to pass. Had the memory Ilithyia conjured of Sura really touched his heart so profoundly that he was moved to mercy? There could be no other explanation. Ilithyia wanted to believe that it was her that moved him, that feelings for her were stirring within his chest as they did in her chest for him. 

Ilithyia almost stumbled into him as they came to an abrupt halt. She’d been lost in thought and had no sense of how far they’d traveled. 

“Kneel” Spartacus voice commended. It was distant and cold.

Ilithyia did as she was told. He was going to leave her here. He was freeing her, what he assumed would be her desire. How did she tell him that she did not want to return to her husband? How could she tell Spartacus that Gaius’ touch was a dangerous, venomous thing? 

“Please.” Ilithyia struggled to break words but she didn't have any fight left. Words, so swift in coming to her tongue her entire life, seemed absent. Spartacus would never believe that she would trade villa and title for a taste of true freedom. Spartacus would never understand that she herself had never been truly free. Iron shackles never bound her wrists, but she had been bound. Her whole life by the constant expectation that she know her place and do as she was told.

“Do you know what it is? To love, to be filled with light and hope. To see that blessing returned in kind in the eyes of the only one who could know the true depths of your heart?” Spartacus spoke from directly in front of her. His voice was softer now and the picture he painted with his words made her chest tighten and her heart ache.

Ilithyia’s thoughts turned to their child. What he described was how she felt when she thought of the life growing inside of her. Spartacus had created this light within her and she longed to stay near him and let him bask in it alongside her. 

Ilithyia could feel the gravity of Spartacus, pulling at her, it was no surprise that these people were drawn to him. She knew now that she too would follow him, even if he did not wish it so. That would pale in comparison to a life lived in Gaius’ looming shadow. It was ironic that bound and made to kneel in the dirt was the first time in her life she thought herself a free woman. It was the first time in her life she made a decision for her own happiness, with no thought to position or politics.

“Your husband chooses vengeance against me over your life. Taking it would balance nothing.” The disgust in Spartacus voice was obvious and it was a sentiment Ilithyia now shared. She wanted the life he spoke of. The life lived in love, one that she could have with her child if she stayed and followed Spartacus. But would he not have her?

Ilithyia’s stomach clenched. Spartacus had saved her from Mira, was even angry that the woman had made attempt on her life, while her own husband decided her life wasn't worth saving. Ilithyia would never return to Gaius, she swore to herself. 

Spartacus kneeled, her whole body was intensely aware of his presence. He laid a gentle hand upon her bruised neck and leaned to whisper in her ear. 

“He does not love you as I loved my wife.”

Spartacus touch lingered, as a phantom on her skin, as he stood. Gaius had left her to die and now Spartacus was leaving her here to return to that monster. Her voice wavered but she spoke her inquiry.

“You let me live?” Ilithyia could hear his footsteps. He was already walking away and abandoning her. Tears came without her consent and her whole body trembled. 

“Do not think it a kindness.” His voice hung in the air behind her.

Ilithyia wished she was stronger, that she had the courage left to speak out on her own behalf. To tell him that she could aid him, to take her with him. Instead she stayed there on her knees and wept. 

The gut-wrenching emptiness of her life was set in plain sight as his shadow passed from view.

Ilithyia sat there on the ground until she could no longer hear the sound of his steps on the forest floor. She couldn't explain it but in that moment, as the vacuous darkness threatened to consume her, a fire coursed through her veins. Ilithyia was a born survivor, she was a fighter. Her near-death experience and her husband’s abandonment had shaken her but the strength of her character remained. 

Ilithyia scrambled to her feet. The tears wouldn't stop even though she willed them to cease. They weren't hers to command. 

She pushed herself forward despite blurred vision, throwing herself in the direction she believed he’d gone. She moved as quickly as she could, her abused body protesting every step. It seemed a journey without time, an eternity stumbling without cause or direction. Ilithyia knew one thing, she couldn't give up. She wasn't sure if the glimpse of him through the trees was truth or specter but she hastened her pace. One foot and then the other, her breath came in short gasps and her lungs filled with fire. 

Ilithyia saw him again, it was him. 

It appeared for a moment that time itself came to a halt. The forest floor reached out for her, taking hold of her ankle. She was falling forward, she turned her body as quickly as she could, her ankle wrenched further but she could not allow herself to land on her stomach. She threw all her weight to one side and prayed to the gods that it was enough. There was a sick pop and molten lava coursed up her leg. 

Her body turned to lead but she caught a glimpse of him again through the trees. The last thing she felt before falling into darkness was his warm embrace.


	8. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilithyia has found her way back to Spartacus, but will he be able to except her? Will his people allow her to live?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my Beta: DanniMitchell85!

~*~ 

When Ilithyia awoke her injured ankle had been bandaged. It throbbed and ached, but she did not believe it broken. Her hands went to her stomach immediately, there was no movement but, she felt fine. Ilithyia assured herself that if anything had happened to the life inside of her that she would know it. If the spark of life had been extinguished she would surely feel the darkness within.

“The child?” Spartacus’ voice raised her from her thoughts. He was an interesting site wearing Roman armor. Ilithyia’s brow furrowed and he chuckled. Spartacus actually removed consternation and broke a smile in her presence? It was by some miracle of the gods. His expression quickly turned thoughtful again when she did not find his humor. Ilithyia summoned the strength to speak to him as if on equal ground. 

“I have no doubt that the child is fine.” Ilithyia really didn't intend to be so stern with him. She had told herself as she raced after him through the woods that her path would be forged of new beginnings. Spartacus didn’t seem to take her tone to heart, instead he made his way to her bedside and regarded her stomach thoughtfully. 

“How do I unite those under my command when I, myself, am of divided purpose?” He crossed his arms over his chest and made no move to sit. Ilithyia knew he was referring to her desire to stay within the rebel camp, or what he must assume was her desire having never heard her speak on the matter. She did not lower her gaze when his own challenged her, instead she measured him. His eyes were softer than she’d ever seen them, taken with thoughts of his previous life no doubt. A time when he’d been asked by her husband to leave his home and take up arms for Rome. His eyes reflected the pain of many wrong decisions. 

“Those under your command, do they clamor for my death as Mira did?” Ilithyia continued to stare into his eyes, she enjoyed watching them flicker with thought. She wondered if their child would have his eyes; deep, thoughtful and weighted with the all the problems of the world. She hoped for it and wished against it in equal measure. Spartacus was not the only one who stood divided. 

“They only ask why I let you live, as your husband did not trade weapons as promised.” His voice remained calm but the mention of her husband ignited a hate in his eyes that used to be there when he looked at her. She’d seen it only days ago and yet, here he stood, giving her some semblance of a chance to change his mind, and through his the mind’s of his people. She stood Roman yes, but so had the old man. It was proof that with Spartacus a person could be judged by their individual merit alone. Too bad her actions to this point did not speak highly of her character, she intended to change that. Not only for herself but also for her child. She would be the kind of mother she never had. Attentive and loving. 

But to truly show herself to him as a changed woman she would have to tell him the truth as to how he could unite his people. Even if it meant speaking against her own life, something she never would have dreamed of doing before. 

“Why did you let me live? What would be the answer you would give to your people?” Ilithyia didn't dare to hope that it had anything to do with his affection toward her. 

“I would answer that your death gains us nothing.” Spartacus spoke plainly but she could sense the curiosity in him. 

“In that you’re wrong,” she matched his plain tone and watched as desired effect took hold. His expression contorted in confusion.

“You would stand with them? Against your own life?” He gave her a disbelieving look.

“No, I simply draw comparison to your enemies. My husband is a champion himself in uniting those under the banner of his cause. I do not speak to forfeit my life and that of our child, I simply offer an insight into the mind of your opponent in hopes to spark thought.” Ilithyia watched him mull over her words and weigh their worth. 

“Speak plainly then," he warned. 

“You are not the monster you would have had me believe, nor are you the monster that my husband has become. My death would hold no meaning for him, just as the death of my servant held no meaning when he crucified her in the market. But the people clamored and cheered his name, united against a common villain. Spartacus. My death would surely unite your people and free your mind from divided purpose, and that is the answer to the question that you posed. Nothing more. I do not wish to die.” Ilithyia knew she was an precarious ground. She’d given him no good reason to spare her life and every reason to take it. She could hardly think herself the same person she once was. 

Ilithyia watched him nervously as he paced away from her makeshift bed. He thought with his back to her for a long moment. 

“I do not wish to manipulate my people.” Spartacus’ voice was soft and Ilithyia had barely heard his words at all. He was such a different man than any she had ever known. 

“What of their perception then? My husband does all in his power to vilify you to the Roman people. He’s outlawed the speaking of your name so that the sound of it alone is enough to cause fear. A person who’s never laid eyes upon you need only speak your name to be crucified in honor of it. Just the thought...” Ilithyia was sharply interrupted.

“Do you only seek to pierce heart with sharp words? Find your purpose or see conversation end!” He was at her side again in an instant and she regretted speaking so plainly, she could see in his eyes the pain she had caused him.

“You must do all in your power to change their perception. They do not know my husband as the villain that you and I do.” Ilithyia moved her hand toward his slowly, he didn't waver and he sighed as she entwined their fingers.

“Last night I set upon them wearing this armor and they weren't prepared. Had I stood your husband we might have been over run. I've shown them that they are weak against the enemy.” His brow was deeply set and his thumb ran idly over the back of her hand. His touch was soft but his skin rough. Ilithyia felt it an external manifestation of his inner self. 

“You have shown them that they are weak, now you must show them the benefit of bandaging old wounds and balming hurt pride.” Ilithyia brought her other hand to his chest and traced a faded line she was responsible for making. It seemed a lifetime ago that she stood in front of him full of hate and dragged that knife across his smooth skin. “It is true that even the strongest things break more easily when already cracked. Even the most stable structure, when set against itself, will easily topple.”

Spartacus brought his hand up and laid it over hers.

“You know that in helping me unite my people, you are pledging your life to my cause? That I aim to take the life of your husband?” For the first time Ilithyia struggled to discern his meaning. Would he judge her harshly for not being a loyal wife or was he interested in gaining her allegiance? Would he anger if her answer seemed overly veiled or political? She took a moment to gather her thoughts, she brought her hand away from distraction and placed them again upon her stomach.

“We have both suffered greatly at the hands of the Republic and those of my husband. I would not flinch to see poison removed from festering wound.” Ilithyia did not shy from his gaze, she hoped he could see the truth in her eyes. 

“You would stand idle while your husband was dispatched to the afterlife?” Spartacus didn't believe her, she knew he wouldn't trust her so easily. As all things, it would take time. She doubted he had much trust left to give, especially to her.

“I would stand as he did when he thought his child and I doomed to similar fate.” Ilithyia breathed a sigh of relief as Spartacus’ eyes softened again. 

“And how is the child? It has suffered greatly alongside it’s mother, and unfortunately at my hands as well.” Spartacus’ hand moved to her stomach and laid gently alongside her own. The question came as a surprise but it was nothing compared to the shock of his touch. 

“The warmth of the life inside me lends me great strength.” Ilithyia smiled at him, it was small but for the briefest moment it was shared between them. As soon as he returned the smile the sound of hurried steps clamored toward them. 

“Spartacus! Agron has left again against orders!” Crixus was at the doorway in a heated state and Spartacus stepped out to break words with the Gaul. Leaving Ilithyia to trace her fingers over where his hand had warmed her belly.


	9. An Untimely Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilithyia could practically hear Spartacus’ voice in his ear, bending his will and calling for his loyalty. It was a testament to his leadership as the tall gladiator sheathed his sword and lifted her from the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait everyone! I've been quite consumed with my AO3 auction fic, which I will be posting this weekend! So keep your eyes peeled. I want to thank my beta DanniMitchell85, she had some wonderful input on this chapter! Thank you all for waiting and I hope you enjoy it :D

Ilithyia moved through the dark tunnel as fast as she could manage. The old, dank smell made her sick but she pressed forward. There was no time to waste, she tried holding her breath to no avail. The temple had been overrun. She did not know where Spartacus was, and for the first time she found herself afraid for his safety. When she awoke to the clash of swords, her instinct was no longer to fear the wrath of Spartacus, but to fear for the man himself.

Ilithyia had talked to him only once in the few days her ankle had been mending. He hadn't turned her away since, as she feared he would. There had even been a small amount of compassion in his eyes, something that had recently been absent from her own husband’s gaze. Ilithyia was certain she would remain absent Spartacus’ forgiveness, but a small amount of hope still existed for their child. She could only pray that her child’s father would someday be able to see beyond the past and embrace the life that he helped forge

The tunnel widened slightly. No light lit the path before her, but the heavy scent of pine was in the air. Ilithyia sent a prayer of gratitude up to the heavens, thanking the gods. She had started to fear the small passage would become her tomb. Shouts from men filled the tunnel and everyone quickened their steps. Once she emerged from the dark and dank hole, she pulled fresh air into her lungs. She could only look on as the mass of people began to congregate in the forest near the passage, believing their escape a success. Ilithyia fixed her eyes upon the tunnel exit, and dared to hope.

Ilithyia’s stomach clenched with the memory of the arena burning in Capua. If she thought too much on it, she could feel the heat from the fire upon her skin. She remembered waiting for her father to emerge. Now she waited again, this time for the father of her child. Would he join her father in fate? Or would the gods see him spared? Her stomach clenched again, this time a rippling pain seized her. Ilithyia’s brow creased as her hand found her swollen stomach. Fear built up in her chest and crept up her spine, was this the answer the gods would have for her? They show her the briefest vision of what her life with Spartacus could be only to strip it away from her now. Show her a vision of victory only to throw her to the jaws of defeat. Even with blessed escape route, she would not be able to deliver a child under hastened retreat.

Ilithyia was forced to take her eyes of the people pouring out of the tunnels entrance. She would put all their lives in danger if they were forced to move more slowly on her account. She wandered further into the forest and leaned against a large, sturdy tree. The pain subsided after a few long moments. She took a deep breath to steady her thoughts and discern proper course of action.

“Ilithyia!” she heard her name shouted. It echoed through the trees around her, frantic and worried. Spartacus was yet among the living, and now he searched for her. She quickly hid herself behind the tree but she couldn't stop the smile that took hold. He was alive. Ilithyia was sure he would not be able to leave her if he knew of her current condition, even if it meant slowing their retreat through the woods. She vowed to herself that she and her child would not be the reason Spartacus fell from this world.

Footsteps approached, one of Spartacus’ men walked right past her. The slave was tall, with broad shoulders and short hair. Ilithyia covered her mouth as the pain overtook her again. She tried to shift her weight quietly to relieve some of the pain in her back. Her foot found no purchase in the bed of foliage covering the forest floor and she slid down the tree with an ‘umph’. The slave turned toward her instantly with his sword drawn. It was one of the men that was meant to had protect her the night Mira made attempt on her life. 

“Ilithyia!” Spartacus’ voice split the night, this time with such force the trees seemed to bow. She scrambled to her feet and rushed toward the slave to silence him, to make him see reason. Ilithyia quickly found herself at the end of his sword. He thought she moved to escape, or to make attempt on his life? Did he not know the lengths she’d gone through to see herself back to the rebel camp? 

“You mustn't call out for him. The child is soon to make its appearance.” Ilithyia spoke through the pain. She kept her voice hushed and her tone serious. The confusion that passed over his features did not give her much hope.

“More reason, I would think, to call out for him?” The slave questioned. 

“Not if your thoughts are of a quick retreat,” she replied. 

He appraised her with a grave look and thought about her claim, weighing its worth for a moment before shaking his head slowly. Ilithyia could practically hear Spartacus’ voice in his ear, bending his will and calling for his loyalty. It was a testament to his leadership as the tall gladiator sheathed his sword and lifted her from the ground. Pain rooted itself inside of her again and she barely heard the warning cry and the sound of Roman horns over the sound of blood rushing in her head. Ilithyia braced herself against the slave and tried not to cry out. She was already slowing him down although he seemed to be doing his best not to show her the extra effort expended due to her added weight. 

“Please leave me,” Ilithyia begged. “I’m not worth your life.”

The slave made no move to let go of her, instead quickening his pace. The pain in her abdomen subsided again and she could breath. Ilithyia wiped the hot tears from her face as she heard orders of retreat being shouted. They were much closer to Spartacus now, the slave slowed and came to a halt in front of the man himself.

“I caught her in attempt to stay behind, she believes the child comes, and does not wish to slow our retreat.” The slave shifted her weight but did not let loose of her. Ilithyia looked up into Spartacus’ eyes. They assessed the situation and came to a decision quickly.

“Agron, see Ilithyia up the mountain pass with the others. Let no harm come to her.” Spartacus commanded.

“What of Nasir?” Agron asked, his voice was tight with concern.

“He has already moved to protect those in retreat. Agron you must hurry!” Spartacus was moving away from them, forming up with the other warriors. Because of her Spartacus would be without one of his fighters. It was as her fears predicted.

Agron hastened for the pass. It was a steep ascent and the burden of her and the child were weighing upon him heavily. The sharp pains overtook her twice as he climbed, it was impossible for her to stay completely still but she forced herself to control what movement she could. Every shift of her body caused him to grimace and grit his teeth. Between the waves of excruciating pain she tore a strip of cloth from her dress and used it to wipe his dripping brow. He didn't take his eyes from the trail but he did give her a tight smile. 

At the summit of the pass Ilithyia looked around and her heart dropped. It was a barren and desolate place with no shelter or water. Agron glanced at her wearily after surveying the situation himself. He set her down gently but steadied her with a tight grip on her arm. 

Ilithyia wanted to cry, this is where the gods would see her bring life into the world? 

“Ilithyia.” Agron’s voice was surprisingly soft and brought some of her strength back to her. She hardened herself against the pressing tide of their misfortune.

If this was her fate she would see in embraced and path tread quickly. 

“Agron, I am in need of a small shelter and any water these people would be willing to share with me.” Ilithyia hoped her tone would convey a request and not a command. In her time back with them she hadn't spoken to any of the slaves but Spartacus and she was not certain how this man would view her. He was scanning the crest of the pass and he breathed a sigh of relief as the boy he’d been with the night at the temple came into view. 

Ilithyia smiled, she was relieved for him. It brought to mind Spartacus calling out her name in the forest. She harbored a secret feeling deep within her that maybe someday Spartacus would look at her the way Agron looked at the young boy approaching them.

Her smile faltered as she felt a warm gush of fluid between her thighs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments much appreciated and questions welcome. :D
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at: omegacora.tumblr.com


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